


The High Warlock of Varadero

by Madame_Klancealot



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura is mentioned, M/M, Secret Relationship, keith is a shadowhunter, lance is a sexy warlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Klancealot/pseuds/Madame_Klancealot
Summary: Keith gets bitten by a demon and he's dying. Which means he needs assisstance from the last person he wants to see.(Shadowhunters crossover)
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 105





	The High Warlock of Varadero

“...Keith! You got this one?” shouted Pidge as she pulled the string of her bow, an arrow whistling, aimed straight to a demon’s heart.   
  


From behind her sprung Keith, his seraph blade held firmly the greater demon in front of them slobbering with drool as he awaited the tip to near him. In seconds, he was dust.  


“I got it,” said Keith with a satisfied grin.  


The others huddled up to Keith and Pidge, their shadowhunter gear covered in black demon ichor, or dust. “So, that everyone?” Hunk asked, searching the parameter for more demons.   
  


They were in the middle of Central Park, the bypassers unsuspecting of any demon slaying or shadowhunters brawling it out. The shadow world made clear of that.   
  


“Where to…” started Pidge, though her hazel eyes widened at the sight of Keith’s arm. “By the angel, Keith, your arm!”   
  


“Shoot.” A hiss erupted from Keith when he put pressure to the deep gash in his arm.   
  


Hunk came by quickly, pulling his stele out to trace a healing iratze close to where the wound had been embedded. Bitten, to be precise.   
  


“It’s a demon bite--”   
  


“One of those buggers got to me while I was too busy cutting through,” Keith interjected, one more pained hiss leaving him.   
  


Hunk’s stele glowed brightly at the tip, smoke billowing as he formed the shape of the iratze blazing on Keith’s already heavily marked skin.  
  


Once the iratze’s blazened shape finally took form, it then transformed to what could resemble a black tattoo, and then all they had to do was wait. “I can’t feel it working,” Keith said, gripping his knuckles.   
  


His naked arm grew heavy, as if something had injected itself in his blood-stream. He could see his blue veins emphasize in color, streaming from his wrist up to his shoulder.   
  


“Shit. You might be poisoned,” informed Pidge worriedly. “An iratze won’t help get it out, we might need to go to--”   
  


“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Keith pointed a fast finger at his parabatai. “We are  _ not  _ going to him. I swear the last time, he almost turned me into one of those blood suckers.”   
  


“Well, you do already look like one of the children of the night,” Hunk chimed in, holding down a chuckle.  


“Now you’re commenting on my complexion! Rude, Big Guy. Very rude.” Keith pouted, about to cross his arms to reveal his irritation then remembered that he had a nasty bite mark seeping with ichor and blood at the moment.   
  


Pidge cleared her throat. “Anywho! We don’t have time to negotiate anything. It’s either go to him and get an elixir, or have him do his weird voodoo tricks on you. But we can’t have you dying on us-- at least, not yet.”   
  


“Pidge is right, we can’t lose you yet. You’re our best shadowhunter in New York. The Inquisitor would go mad if she found out you’d manage to die by a measly demon bite.”  


Keith made a deep breath to channel out his partners' bickering -- reasoning -- to get him to find an antidote, but he’d go anywhere than there. To  _ him.   
  
_

Suddenly his knees gave out, a jolt ringing in his skull. “By the angel, Keith, can you just do yourself a favour and toughen up for once and go see Lance!”   
  


“I’d rather have the Inquisitor bite all your heads off than go see him,” said Keith as he breathed out heavily, holding pressure to his throbbing arm.   
  


With Pidge, there was no room for discussion. During the next few minutes once a portal had been formed, Keith found himself moping outside an old-fashioned, brick building complex.   
  


And while wearing a smirk and a teasing glint in her eye, Pidge pressed on the doorbell, awaiting to see if their acquaintance was home.  
  


“Stop it, Keith,” Pidge commanded meekly, clearly sick of Keith’s loud complaining.   
  


His arm started throbbing double as hard once they stepped through the portal, as if it knew help was right around the corner. “I’m not doing anything,” Keith said in a high, squeaky voice as if asking her to back off already.   
  


Hunk stared up at the top of the brick building. “I thought Lance lived in glamour and luxury, this place isn’t giving me any of those vibes.”   
  


“That’s because I’d much rather spend my precious alone time away from fame and fortune,” Lance’s voice suddenly emerged from the intercom. “Although I am the most famous warlock in Varadero.”  


“You live in Brooklyn! You’re not famous around here, so stop gloating,” muttered Keith hotly on his end.   
  


“Oh, is that Keith?” Lance cooed, his voice somewhat distorted. “Why, I’m surprised. Precious angel-folk have come to  _ my  _ doorstep? To what do I owe the pleasure? Or my pleasure?”  


Lance, the high warlock of Brooklyn -- though in his opinion: Varadero -- had made a name for himself as the biggest flirt in all of New York, and he wasn’t shy about it either. Something Keith simply despised about the man.   
  


Bisexual. Immortal. And not a stranger to all the kinds of downworlder folk you could ever think of. Night children, Lycanthrope, the Fair Folk-- stories had been told through the ages of his hookups and his misgivings.   
  


_ That fiend _ , Keith thought, wearing a grimace. “Keith is dying,” Pidge said into the intercom. “We… Keith needs your help.”   
  


“I wanna hear it from him,” said Lance in a flourished tone.  
  


Hunk and Pidge turned their looks at Keith, brows up indicating that he had no other choice.   
  


Huffing out all irate, Keith stomped close to the intercom, slamming the button with his finger, “Let me in, you asshole… and help me.”   
  


The door buzzed open. “I’m sorry angel children, but only one person per trip.”   
  


Signaling that Keith had to go up alone, Pidge and Hunk took their farewell. “You better not be dead when you get back!”   
  


“Yeah, or else Allura will kill you!” Hunk added.   
  


“How is that even possible?” Pidge said in the distance as they ran back to the institute.   
  


Keith squared his shoulders, trying to forget the pain in his arm, and that the poison had spread faster than anticipated. He sucked in a breath then went in.  


“Ah, Mr. Keith Kogane.” Lance was pouring tea in an expensive looking china-cup. “So, you’ve come to bask in my riches again? Couldn’t keep away for eternity as you stated oh so heatedly the last time.” He threw up a perfectly arched brow, his downworld mark -- cat eyes -- glowing under his dusky lamp lights.   
  


The warlock eased himself like a feline in one of his plush couches, patting the seat available next to him, a second cup of tea steaming on the antique table.   
  


Soft to the touch as he sat, Keith closed his eyes absorbing the aromas around him-- incense, ginger, jasmine. Sensual would be the way to describe Lance’s interior, as if a gypsy coughed up money saved for the past 600 years. Riches and treasures collected -- or pilfered -- from around the world. Lance owned it all.  
  


Keith gingerly held the fine china-cup, taking a whiff of the tea’s scent. That’s where the jasmine came from. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to see me more after this.”   
  


“Why,” Lance began, slurring on the word. He put a finger under Keith’s chin, leaning in close, his wicked cat eyes mapping out Keith’s contours. “We can’t have any of that.”   
  


With force, Lance grabbed Keith’s arm. Lance clicked his tongue at him. “Poor little angel,” he cooed sympathetically, caressing his delicate, nail-painted hands along where the bite mark lay. “It seems to me you’ve been unfortunate. I thought you were the best in all of New York.”   
  


Pulling his arm away, looking somewhat disheartened, Keith said with competence, “I  _ am  _ the best in New York.”   
  


“I see you’re still as cocky as ever.” Lance waved him off nonchalantly.   
  


The throbbing in Keith’s arm began to subside, the pain swiftly diminishing. “So… how about we get this bite out of you.”  


Lance’s face came flushed close to Keith. His blue eyes flashing once revealing his mark again. “Let’s see,” he hummed as he peered over his sofa, rummaging through the shelf attached behind.   
  


Triumphant, Lance fiddled forth with a small vial, tear-drop shaped, the liquid inside bright as his luscious, plump lips. “Here we are.” He held the vial up close to Keith, his smile coy as an alley cat.   
  


So close, the cure, and then swiped away with a few more dabbing tongue clicks. “Kitten, you know the magic word.” Lance rubbed the vial against his cheek, winking.   
  


“No,” Keith flatlined. “You do. Now let me drink it before I shrivel up and die.”  
  


Lance pouted, keeping the vial out of Keith’s grasp. "Aw, kitten, you're no fun."  
  


"I'm a hoot!” Keith said boisterously, swiping the vial out of Lance’s ringed hands and downing the contents in one gulp. He grimaced by the taste, an exhale of disgust tasting the air between them. “Now say it already, Lance. And stop calling me that."   
  


Angling his head careenly, Lance pursed his lips to the side, studying his painted nails-- the marvelous, jewels around his fingers. "I won’t say the spell until I've gotten my payment."  
  


Keith scoffed. "Payment?! We never discussed-- I'm dying here!"  


"And I'm dying over here!” Lance bargained playfully, tumbling down onto Keith’s lap. “On my lips," he winked, tapping his puckered lips.  
  


Another scoff left Keith with a groan following all the same as he leaned down and planted a tentative kiss on Lance’s lips.   
  


Lance moaned into the kiss, deepening it. “Mmmm, that’s the stuff.”   
  


“Now say it,” prodded Keith harshly.   
  


Pops of knuckles cracking indicated the warlock that the spell would be in motion. He sat up, shaking his head elegantly and gently held on to where the wound was located. As he recited, his fingers, ever so gracefully, brushed Keith’s skin. Heating in the process.  
  


“ _ Verbatim, veto, e pluribus unum _ ,” recited Lance in a tone unfamiliar to Keith.   
  


He sounded like he had been taken under a spell, an incantation to which his flirtiness negated but a high warlock took its stead.   
  


“ _ Verbatim, veto, e pluribus unum… _ ” Lance’s eyes glowed miraculously, his demeanour stoic and powerful. Until it shifted back to his blue, blue irises, his mark temporarily deceased. “That should do the trick. And I want double the payment.”   
  


Keith leaned in again, his healed arm circling around Lance’s long, slender neck, pulling him closer. The kiss this time became more fervent, their want increasing and coated wet in lust.   
  


“So,” Lance dragged on the vowel, stealing a nibble of Keith’s bottom lip. “When are you gonna tell your little angel buddies about us?”   
  


“Never.”   
  


A seductive laugh pulled out of Lance’s tempting junction, easing once again along Keith’s lap. He blithely swiped a fingertip across the tip of Keith’s nose, sighing half-heartedly. “Aren’t you cute, Kitten. They’re only going to find out sooner or later.”   


Lance shifted till his stomach was planted across all of Keith’s frame, trapping him to the corner of his plush sofa. “You know you can never get rid of me, Keith. That’s the only good thing about being immortal.”   
  


Keith stared down, averting Lance’s wonderful gaze. Once he looked back, Lance hadn’t steered his eyes away, a withering look crossing between them. A spoken silence.  
  


Clearing his throat dryly, Keith broke the silence, "Whatever. Right now, it's just not the time. Not with everything going on. And if the inquisitor found out a shadowhunter and a downworlder were dating, she'd strip me of my marks."  
  


"Would that be such a bad thing?"   
  


Keith shifted to a surprised yet angry look.   
  


Lance chuckled painfully, scratching his perfectly dishevelled hair. "You’re right, stupid question."   
  


To tear away the awkward conversation, Keith jumped in again, kissing Lance stupid. Moaning and urging to undress the warlock of his blue and golden-trimmed robe.  


Lance had to stop Keith, pushing him back. Keith felt needy, he urged for an escape-- a distraction. He didn’t want this conversation. Not now, at least. Not yet.   
  


"But know this,” said Lance, stern, determined. “I may be immortal, but I might not be around for so long the farther you drag this out.” He brushed a thick lock of Keith’s black bangs away from his face, tucking it sweetly behind his ear. Lance’s hand remained cupped at his cheek, staring woefully at him. “I hate to do this to you, Kitten, but they need to know. And soon."  
  


Urgently, Keith dragged Lance back to his mouth, kissing him passionately, a small whine cracking from the back of his throat. Once he pulled back to stare long and hard at the beautiful warlock he said, "I know."   
  


A bubble of a giggle fell out of Lance’s throat, startling Keith. “I’m sorry, you looked so comically devoted when you said that. It didn’t fit your character.”   
  


Heat flushed at Keith’s neck, riding up to his cheeks. “There he is!” Lance cooed happily, snuggling up into Keith’s marked arms. “But for now, we’ll keep it as our little secret.” 


End file.
